


To all the boys I’ve ever loved.

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Harry did not asked for this, Inspired by To All The Boys I've Loved Before, M/M, Multi, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, They still have magic, Tom is Peter but he still acts like Tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What if all the crushes you ever had found out how you feel about them... all at once?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 82
Kudos: 175
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Harry always liked to save things. Not important things like whales or people or the environment, no, despite popular belief Harry has never once saved a person because he wanted to. Being a hero brings him no joy, nor does the thrill of putting his life in danger. He saves people because it’s simply the right thing to do and... perhaps a part of him does it because it’s what his parents would have done.

James and Lily Potter died war heroes.

Harry always liked to save things. Not important things but silly little knickknacks you’d find in your grandma’s china-cabinet. Like porcelain bells and bright copper kettles. Cookie cutters you’ll never use, because, really who needs a cookie in the shape of a foot? Satin ribbons, not that he would ever need ribbons but Harry likes the texture. It’s smooth and soft, oddly comforting.

Love letters.

Out of all the things Harry saves his love letters are his most prized possession. He keeps them in his mother’s old bright red hatbox, hazardously shoved in the bottom of his trunk for safekeeping.

They aren’t love letters someone else wrote for him; Harry doesn’t own anything like that. Probably never will. These are the ones he’s written. There’s one for every boy Harry has ever loved— five in all. When Harry writes, he holds nothing back. He writes like the object of his affections will never read it. Because they never will. Every secret thought, every careful observation, every warm fuzzy feeling he saved inside himself, Harry puts it all in a letter. When he’s done, he seals it, addresses it, and then put it in his red hatbox.

They aren’t love letters in the strictest sense of the word. Harry’s love letters are for when he doesn’t want to be in love anymore. They’re for good-bye. Because after he writes, Harry is no longer consumed by his all consuming-love. Harry can drink butter-beer and wander into Honeydukeswithout wonder if _he_ likes blood-pops as well. If love is like a possession, maybe Harry’s love letters are like his exorcism. His letters set him free... at least they’re supposed to.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron Weasley is Hermione’s boyfriend, but In truth, Harry’s whole family is a little in love with him. It’s hard to say who most of all. But before he was Hermione’s boyfriend, he was just Ron, Harry’s best friend. They met on the Hogwarts express, both anxious first-years wondering what house they’ll be sorted in.

Sirius loves Ron because Ron reminds him of James. “They have the same spirit.” His godfather once said, a bittersweet, almost wistful smile gracing his lips.

Remus loves Ron because of their shared skill in wizard chess. The two can play a single game for hours, never quite able to one-up each other. It’s become somewhat of a tradition to place bets, the twins would gamble away all their allowances on Remus. Because if anyone could bet Ron it’s Uncle Moony. Hermione, while not a huge fan of gambling would also place a few Sickles for Ron.

If Harry had to guess why Hermione loves Ron, he thinks it’s because the gangly redhead made it so easy to love him.

The golden trio is in the living room of Hermione’s home, her little sister Katherine is pasting pictures of dogs on a giant piece of cardboard in the middle of the floor. There’s papers and scraps all around her as she hums merrily to herself. “When daddy asks me what I want for my birthday I’m just going to say, ‘pick any of these breeds and we’ll be good.’ ”

Ron and Hermione are on the couch; Harry is laying on the floor. Watching the telly. Ron recently figured out how to pop popcorn the muggle way and Harry has devoted himself to see how many he can fit into his mouth at one time.

A commercial comes on for perfume: a girl running around the streets of Paris. What Harry wouldn’t give to explore Paris, Sirius once mentioned that was where his parents honeymooned, and how his mother fell in love with the city.

An idea struck Harry so suddenly he choked on a kernel of popcorn. He sat up, turning his gaze to his two dearest friends. “Hermione, Ron, let’s meet in Paris next summer!” The mere thought made him giddy, the black-haired teen has never left the UK before. Plus, this is the perfect solution to the trio’s growing sullen mood.

This is their last year of Hogwarts, their last year together, then Hermione is off to further her studies in France and Ron is already looking into Auror training... Harry can’t help but fear that they’ll leave him behind.

Hermione’s face lights up, mirth twinkling in her warm brown eyes. “Do you think Sirius will let you go?”

Harry shrugs. His Godfather was very lenient when it came to rules and regulations, but when it comes to Harry leaving longer than an overnight trip... let’s just say he doesn’t handle that very well.

“I’ll be a legal adult by then, he’ll have to let me.” Harry worries his bottom lip. He might say that, but he hates making Sirius fret. How would his Godfather function if Harry left the country? There’s only so much Uncle Moony can do to pacify the man.

Ron must have noticed Harry's sudden mood shift because the redhead sent him a reassuring smile as bright and blinding as the sun. “Don’t worry. Sirius will definitely let you go if I’m with you. Worst case scenario we can have Remus spike his morning cuppa with calming draughts.”

Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the thought, Uncle Moony would so spike Sirius’s drinks for Harry. “I inherited a flat in Place Cachée, we can stay there!”

Ron nods vigorously as Hermione adds “We can finally try that fancy restaurant Bill and Fleur told us about!”

“And We can go to a parfumerie and get our personalized scents done!” Ron says with excitement in his voice. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other before bursting out into another fit of giggles.

“I didn’t realize you had such exquisite taste.—“I thought you said only prissy purebloods get personalized scented perfume.”

Ron huffs, his freckled cheeks resembling a fire hydrant. “I only want to do it because Ginny wants to do it. She’ll be so jealous if I go to Paris and get my own personalized scent!”

“What about me?” Katherine softly whimpers. “Can’t you take me with you!”

Katherine crawls over to Hermione and climbs on her lap. She’s nine and much too big to be sitting on people’s laps, but he and Ron aren’t the only ones dreading the coming summer.

“Of course puppet, I’d love to have you come visit me.”

*

When Hermione decided to further her studies in France, it felt like betrayal. He knew it was coming. Hermione is brilliant, without a doubt the smartest witch in her generation. She deserves to travel and study to her heart’s content. But, France felt like an ocean away.

And Harry... ordinary, plain old Harry, who doesn’t even know what he wants to do with his life, felt like he was getting left behind.

What will happen if she decides to stay in France? Would Ron move out there too? Of course, he would, Ron loves her.

*

It’s funny how suddenly things can change. How life keeps moving and growing even when we don’t want it to. Even when we wish things would stay exactly how they are.

A few weeks later Harry was preparing for the trio’s yearly trip to Diagon ally, the supply list was neatly folded into his back pocket. A sack of galleons rested on the table in front of him, Harry was determined not to forget it this year.

He was quietly nursing a cuppa while listening to his uncles shuffle around upstairs when Hermione unexpectedly came through the floo.

That’s unusual, they normally meet at the leaky cauldron. But the surprise was welcome nonetheless.

“Good morning. Would you like a cup?” Harry offers with a tired smile. Hermione nods.

“Have you heard from Ron?” she asks while taking the seat across from him.

“Not since yesterday morning... why?”

Hermione busies herself, stirring milk and sugar into her tea, even though they both know she likes her tea black. “I broke up with Ron last night,”

Harry's jaw dropped, no matter how many times he tried to close it, his mouth just kept opening.

“What?” He manages to crock out. It doesn’t seem real, Harry always imagined that Ron and Hermione would get married one day, and he’d be the best man at their wedding.

“I mean, it was time,” She takes a long sip, savoring the flavor, and more than likely trying to find the words to explain this ridiculous situation. Her eyes aren’t red-rimmed; she hasn’t been crying, at least it doesn’t appear that way. Her voice is calm and even. Anyone looking at her would think that she was fine. Because Hermione is always fine, even when she’s not. “N.E.W.T.S are this year and then I’m leaving soon... it’s just... Ron deserves to have a proper girlfriend, someone who can spend quality time with him and... I can’t be that person right not now.”

What was Harry supposed to say to that? He’d like to say that it was just stress, that they’ll probably get back together in another day or two. But that’s just not something Hermione would do. She wouldn’t make up her mind just to change it. Not his stubborn willful Hermione. when Hermione is done she’s done. Harry wishes (and this is a thought he’s had many, many times, too many times to count.) Harry wishes he was more like Hermione. Because sometimes it feels like he’ll never be done.


	3. Chapter 3

_**1995** _

_  
Hermione glances at Harry, starry eyes, and flushed cheeks. “Harry. . . do you think you’ve ever been in love before? Real love?”_

_The question catches Harry off guard; He didn’t have an answer ready for her. A part of Harry wonders if she knew, if Hermione figured out the secret he’s kept so close to his chest._

_He was trying to think of an answer, but she’s already talking again. “This might sound silly, I know we’re still so young but... I think I’m in love with Ron. Like real love.”_

*

Harry breath catches. There they are: Ron and Hermione standing in the middle of platform 9 3/4. Hermione’s face is turned away from him, toward the blearing red train. Ron is crying. They aren’t touching. There’s enough space between them for Harry to know that Hermione hasn’t changed her mind.

Dread coils in Harry’s stomach. Harry wishes he hadn’t seen that. It was too personal. Too real. It was supposed to be just for them. Not all the prying eyes sneaking glances at them. If there was a way for him to unsee it, He would.

When Ron and Hermione got together things changed. It wasn’t necessary a bad changed, but it was different. Weird. They didn't want Harry to feel left out, so they invited him everywhere... even on dates. They tried to make it as normal as possible, But he still felt like a third wheel on most occasions.

Now that they broke up things changed again, this time it wasn’t a good different.

“Everything is going to be alright pup.” Sirius throws an arm over his shoulders, giving Harry a quick reassuring squeeze.

“I feel like I’m losing my best friends.” What if they make him choose? How could Harry possibly pick between Ron and Hermione? He needs both of them, they even him out... they even each other out.

“It won’t always be like this.” Moony says. “Just give them time.”

Harry turns away from the scene, emotions swelling in his throat. What must it be like, to have a boy like you so much he cries for you? And not just any boy. Ron. Our Ron.

_“Harry. . . do you think you’ve ever been in love before? Real love?”_

To answer her question: yes, just once, though. With

Ron. Our Ron.

*

**_1995_ **

_The way it happened was sudden. Hermione came rushing into the common room late that day in October; her cheeks were pink from the cold mountainy air and she had her hair in a braid and a scarf around her neck. She’d been working on a project at school, it was after supper, and Harry was sitting by the fireplace, wondering where his two friends could possibly be._

_She sat in the chair next to him and announced, “I have something to tell you.” Her eyes were very bright; Harry remember she was unspooling the scarf from around her neck._

_Neville was doing his homework on the coffee table, Ron was in detention with the twins, and Harry blinks at her with wide owlish eyes. “What?” He asked._

_“Ron likes me.” Hermione gave a pleased kind of shrug; her shoulders nearly went up to her ears._

_Harry went very still. Then dropped the snitch that was in his hand. “Ron? Our Ron?” He couldn’t even look at her. He was afraid that she would see._

_“Yes. He waited for me after runes today so he could tell me. He said—” Hermione grinned ruefully. “He said I’m his dream girl. Can you believe that?”_

_“Wow,” Harry said, and he tried to communicate happiness in that word, but he didn’t know if it came out that way. All Harry was feeling was despair. And envy. Envy so thick and so black he was choking on it. So Harry tried again, this time with a smile. “Wow, Hermione.”_

_“Wow,” Neville echoed. “So are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?”_

_Harry held his breath, waiting for her to answer._

_Hermione looked over Neville’s work. “Yeah, I think so.” And then she smiled, and her eyes went all soft and liquid. Harry understood then that she liked him too. So much._

_That night Harry wrote his letter to Ron._

_ Dear Ron . . . _

*

He cried a lot. Just like that, it was over. It was over before Harry even had a chance. The important thing wasn’t that Ron had chosen Hermione. It was that they chose each other.

So that was that. Harry cried his eyes out; he wrote his letter; And put the whole thing to rest. Harry haven’t thought of him in that way since. Ron and Hermione are meant to be. They’re MFEO. Made for each other.

And as Harry watches Hermione walk towards the train. He realizes her shoulders are shaking. She’s crying.

Hermione never cries.

Now that he’s seen Hermione cry over him, Harry believes it now more than ever—they’re not over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Tom will finally make his grand entrance next chapter.💓👌🏻


	4. Chapter 4

Harry spent the first hour on the Hogwarts express copying Ron’s homework. The cabin felt oddly empty with just the two of them. Hermione more than likely hiding in the prefect’s cabin.

“Um . . . you know Hermione’s going to kill you, right?”

Harry whipped his head around so fast his hair slaps him in the face. “Hermione’s not going to find out, so don’t you say a word!”

“When would I even talk to her? We’re broken up, remember?”

Harry frown at him. “I hate when people do that—when you ask them to keep something a secret and instead of saying yes or no, they say, ‘Who would I tell?’?”

“I didn’t say, ‘Who would I tell?’!”

“Just say yes or no and mean it. Don’t make it conditional.”

“I won’t tell Hermione anything,” he says. “It’ll just be between you and me. I promise. All right?”

“All right,” Harry says. And then it gets quiet with neither of them saying anything; the only sound filling the small space is Harry’s quill scratching against parchment.

Harry’s stomach feels queasy just thinking about how much things have changed.

_“When would I even talk to her? We’re broken up, remember?”_ That sentence felt like damnation. Is it too naïve to hope things will go back to the way things were?

“So just because Hermione and I broke up, you’re not going to talk to me anymore either?” Ron sounds jokingly bitter or bitterly joking if there is such a combination.

Harry looks over at him in surprise. “Don’t be daft. Of course, I’m still going to talk to you. Just not in public.” Ron doesn’t crack a smile, he just looks glum, so Harry bumps his forehead against the redheads. “That was a joke, dummy!”

“Did she tell you she was going to do it? I mean, was it always her plan?” When Harry hesitates, he says, “Come on. I know she tells you everything.”

“Not really. Not this time anyway. Honestly, Ron. I didn’t know a thing about it. Promise.” Harry crosses his heart.

Ron absorbs this. Chewing on his bottom lip he says, “Maybe she’ll change her mind. That’s possible, right?”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s more heartless for him to say yes or no because he’ll be hurt either way. Because while Harry’s 99.99999 percent sure that she will get back together with him, there’s that tiny chance she won’t, and Harry don’t want to get his hopes up. So He doesn’t say anything.

Ron swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, you’re right. When Hermione makes up her mind, she doesn’t go back on it.”

Please please please don’t cry.

Harry rests his head on Ron’s shoulder and say’s, “You never know, Ronnie.”

They sat like this for a while, Harry’s school work lays forgotten next to him, and Ron using slighter teen as a headrest. It’s not unusual to find the pair like this. Ron has always been an affectionate person, he’s not good with words, and he has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. But, Ron has other ways to show that he cares.

Back in fifth year, back when Harry was harboring a secret crush on his red-hair friend, these small gestures used to make his heart stutter painfully. But now all he feels is safe... like he’s home.

“Hey, Har...”

“Hmm?”

“Who was your first crush?” Harry blinks owlishly, once, twice, before really registering the question. He sits up, turning to his tall— gangly friend.

“Why?” Harry asks, cheeks redder than any of the Weasley’s hair.

Ron shrugs. “I just realize we never talk about these types of things.” Which was true. Harry has never told them about any of his love interests, but neither has Ron and Hermione. Besides each other, Harry has no clue who else they had feelings for. It just wasn’t something they talked about. “You have had a crush... right?”

“Of course I’ve had a crush!” Harry sighs, mind running a million miles per hour. “You want to know my first real crush?” Like the first one that really mattered?”

Ron nods vigorously, light blue eyes sparkling in anticipation and child-like excitement.

“Well . . . I guess Tom Riddle.”

Ron practically gags. “Riddle? Are you bloody kidding me? He’s so obvious. I thought you’d be into someone more . . . I don’t know, subtle. Tom Riddle is such a tosser. He’s so prissy. And proper. He’s full of bullshit if you asked me, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

Harry shrugs. “You asked.”

“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “Just . . . wow.”

“He used to be different. I mean, he was still very Tom, but less so.” When Ron looks unconvinced, Harry says “You didn’t know him like I did, so you can’t understand what I’m talking about.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand!”

*

Tom Riddle and Harry used to be friends, back before he was the heir of Slytherin when he was just Tom: orphaned muggle-born who (against all odds) got sorted into Slytherin. Before he unlocked his hidden _destiny_.

Needless to say, they’re not friends anymore.

They don’t trade harsh words like Harry and Malfoy. There’s no scornful sneers or petty schoolyard rivalry. It’s just indifference. Riddle goes about his life like Harry never existed, like their friendship meant nothing to him.

Harry felt an uncomfortable tug in his chest.

*

Harry glances over at Hermione. She’s sitting at the other end of the Gryffindor table, with Lavender Brown and Padma Patil. Her two least favorite people in the whole house. And maybe all of Hogwarts.

Of course, Harry didn’t expect her to sit with them. She didn’t on the train, so why would she do it here? Yet it still stung.

_“He needs space to heal.” Hermione once said, a small frown gracing her lips._

He gets it, really. But a part of Harry can’t help but feel that alienating Ron, them, isn’t the right way to go.

“The very best of evenings to you!” Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice echoes across the room, life twinkling in his eyes. The old headmaster seemed ageless in Harry’s opinion. Not that he didn’t look old. (Only Merlin knows how he’s able to keep going.) but the man just seems eternal, like he’s always been here and always will be.

“... Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…”

It’s odd to think that this is his last Start-of-Term Feast, that after this he’d never sit on the Gryffindor table, and listen to Dumbledore’s welcoming speech again. Harry is overly emotional, and sentimental, but he can’t help how his heart squeezes. Hogwarts is his home. It’s safe, and he’s made so many wonderful memories here. Harry isn’t sure he’s ready to outgrow it yet.

“Our Headboy and Headgirl this year are Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger.” The pair stands from their respective seats. Hermione stood proudly, her shoulders are back, and a wide genuine grin spread across her face. It’s the first real smile he’s seen from her in a month. It’s not as bright as her usual smiles, but it’s real, and she deserves this. Hermione wanted to be Headgirl since the start of her Hogwarts career. She deserves this more than anyone. No one has worked quite as hard as her, no one’s brilliance could compare.

Well... no one except. Harry glances over at Riddle. The prodigy. Slytherins poster child. Everyone’s favorite student.

Tom Riddle has the look of a Handsome Boy from a different time. He could be a dashing World War I soldier, handsome enough for a girl to wait years for him to come back from war, so handsome she could wait forever. Or a well-bred aristocrat that all the court ladies swoon over. His hair curls in a charming, gentlemanly way to the side of his head, a single curl touching his brow. Sharp jawline accompanied with aristocrat features, and pale skin complementing his dark eyes.

He was Harry’s first kiss. It’s so strange to think of it now. It feels like forever ago, but really it was just four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's not the grand entrance you wanted, but it’s a start!😃💁♀️


	5. Chapter 5

_**1993** _

_Harry warily walks down the quiet corridor, his eyes carefully searching every dark nook and cranny for his friend. For someone who was so eye-catching, Tom really knew how to blend into his surroundings when necessary._

_"Tom!" Harry hissed, trying to lure the older boy out._

_The sun is setting, everyone should be in the Great Hall having supper. Harry was concerned when Tom hadn't shown up, they agreed to have supper together earlier that day. Tom was never one to back out of his word. Something really important must of happened._

_A hard knot tied itself in the pit of Harry's stomach, anxiety pulling the knot even tighter. It only seems to get worse when a group of older Slytherin's passed by him. They were snickering obnoxiously, ugly grins stretching across their faces._

_"Did you see the look on that mud blood's_ face?" _A girl with elf-like features asks her friends. Her voice was prissy and snobbish. And somehow Harry just knew who they were talking about."Services Riddle right—"_

_Harry fled. He didn't stick around to hear what they had to say. Maybe he should have, it might have made finding Tom easier. But Harry couldn't possibly sit still when his friend needed him._

_The situation surprised Harry. It's been a while since the other Slytherin's made a move against Tom, they were a lot more hostile first and last year. But, recently, it seemed Tom had finally asserted his "dominance" over the others. The Slytherins in their year look up to him. Some even going out of their way to please Tom._

_Maybe the older kids are still mean to him behind closed doors? Maybe they are jealous of how easy everything is for Tom, how casting new spells were as simple as breathing for the boy._

_Harry yelps when a hand suddenly grabs his arm and pulls him into a lightless broom closet._

_"What in the bloody hell—"Stop yelling Harry. They'll find us" Tom hisses. And Harry... Harry couldn't find the words to talk even if he wanted to. The closest is dark, like the very notion of light is nonexistent here. And Tom... Tom was so close. He couldn't see the other boy, but Harry can feel him. His breath tickles across Harry's face, his arms rested on both sides of Harry's head._

_They are so close. Closer than they've ever been before. Harry's back is pushed against the door, while Tom is pushed against him. How small was this closet?'_

_"W-what happen?" The slighter teen asks, trying to push away the thick cloud that formed in his head._

_Tom clicks his tongue, somehow he made the sound chastising and disproving "Nothing that I didn't allow."_

_Harry rolls his eyes, a found smile tugging at his lips. Right. Let your victims think they have the upper hand before attacking. Tom mentioned something like that last year and has lived by those rules ever since._

_Harry was brought back to reality when he felt something brush against his lips, the feeling was soft, and It took a millisecond for Harry to realize Tom's mouth was against his. Tom kissed him. Harry doesn't know how long it lasted, it could have been a brief second or a staggering hour. All Harry could process was that Tom kissed him. Him. Harry Potter._

_Tom pulls away, his four head resting on Harry's, their nose briefly touching, and the slighter teen try's to squash the butterflies that got loose in his tummy. "Sorry," Tom whispers. "That was an accident."_

_Something about this didn't feel like an accident. But Harry throws that thought away as soon as it came. "Right." He says awkwardly. "Of course. It's okay... we should probably get going."_

_Tom hums, the sound was lazy, content, and agreeing all at the same time. "Right," the taller teen pulls away slowly. "We wouldn't want them to think they have too much power over me."_

*

Harry sits next to Hermione bright and early on a Sunday morning. The Great hall is practically bearing, only a handful of students in each house dares to be awake at such a godforsaken hour. "You're up early." She says as a greeting.

"I have to be if I want to see you."

The trio's new dynamic is strange, and oddly resembling a divorced couple who had a child together. Meaning: they don't hang out as a trio anymore, and since they can't spend time with Harry together, they are forced to share him. Literally. Hermione made a schedule. They route every other Hogsmeade trip, Hermione gets him on Wednesdays and Fridays. The other days go to Ron. For some reason, Ron has the most "custody".

Harry can't decide if it's because Hermione thinks Ron needs him more or if Hermione is really so busy that she hardly has any free time.

She gives him a tired smile before returning to her book.

"What's it like having your own bedroom? Are they as nice as people say?" Harry asks while spooning cream of wheat into a wooden bowl. Without so many people in the room, it was easy to catch Riddle looking in their direction. The Headboy sat across the room, surrounded by his closest friends. Holding steady eye contact with Harry. That's weird... that's suspicious. But maybe he's looking at Hermione, it would make a lot more sense.

She hums thoughtfully. "The room is quite lovely, and it's nice having my own private space. But I do miss hearing Lavender and Padma gossip. They tell the most fun stories."

"Is that why you've been hanging out with them so much?" Harry asked, his attention returning to Hermione.

She looks down sheepishly. "Kinda... it's lonely without you and Ron around, their definitely not you... or him. But I enjoy their company a lot more than I used to."

"Hermione, just because you broke up with him doesn't mean you can't be friends."

She tugs on her brown bushy-hair, a nervous habit Hermione hasn't quite grown out of. "I can't."

"Hermione—-"No, Harry you don't understand. I love Ron too much to just be his friend."

Harry's mouth clicked shut. He can't help but think she's being unfairly difficult... selfish even. After all, he once loved Ron too, he loved Ron so much that he’d rather still be his friend than lose the redhead entirely.

"What if he gets a new girlfriend?"

"Trust me, I don't think you have to worry about that any time soon." Harry replies dryly.

"But— "Excuse me," Riddle approaches with a charming smile. Harry and Hermione glance at each other before looking up at Riddle. He hasn't been this close to the older teen in a while, from here he can see a red hue in his dark brown eyes. "May I have a word with you? In private."

"Yes, of course," Hermione says, getting up from her seat.

"Oh, not with you Miss, Granger. With _Harry_."

Harry's eyes widen, his heart does a weird acrobatic number in his chest. When was the last time he talked to Riddle? They had to be fourteen.

Hermione's brows connected with her hairline, confusion written across her face. But she didn't say anything, just looked at Harry expectingly. The slight teen shrugs back, like he really has no idea what's going on!

"Sure." Harry quietly follows Riddle out of the dining hall, into a more privately located corridor. Riddle's face was unreadable, nothing gave away his intentions or feelings. And yet Harry can't shake this suspension that the older teen seemed giddy. Like something just gone his way.

"Just so you know, not everyone finds me insufferable. Some people actually enjoy my company." Riddle says, in a low, quiet voice.

What in the world? Harry stares at him, his mouth open. "I never said you're insufferable..."

His voice is still low but amusement lightly traced each word. "I also don't suck up to professor Slughorn. The man just has an unnatural infatuation with me."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's what you said. In your letter. How I'm an egotistical psychopath who goes around manipulating everyone, yet you love me anyway. Remember?"

"What letter? I never wrote you any letter!"

Actually, he did. He did write Riddle a letter, about a million years ago. But that's not the letter he's talking about. It couldn't be.

"Yes. You. Did. It was addressed to me, from you."

Oh, God. No. No. This isn't happening. This isn't reality. (I'm dreaming. I'm in my room and I'm dreaming and Tom Riddle is in my dream, giving me a shark-like grin). Harry closes his eyes. (Am I dreaming? Is this real?)

"Harry Potter?"

Harry opens his eyes. He's not dreaming, and this is real. This is a nightmare. Tom Riddle is holding Harry's letter in his hand. It's Harry's handwriting, his envelope, his everything. "How—how did you get that?"

"It came in the mail this morning." Riddle sighs slowly. And talks to him like he's talking to a frightened child, "Listen, Harry, it's not a big deal; in fact, I think it’s endearing— "

"It came in the mail? An owl delivered it to you?"

"Yes."

Harry feels faint. He actually feels faint. (Please let me faint right now, because if I faint I will no longer be here, in this moment. It will be like in movies when a girl passes out from the horror of it all and the fighting happens while she is asleep and she wakes up in a hospital bed with a bruise or two, but she's missed all the bad stuff. I wish that was my life instead of this.)

This was already bad. Really bad. But it got 10x worse when Ron came rushing down the hall like a bat out of hell. With a letter in his hand. And if Harry's intuition is correct... it's the letter Harry wrote to Ron... his love letter.

"Oh, my god." Harry whispers, horrified. No. No, no, no. Fuck. "Oh, my god!"

What Harry did next was out of pure desperation. He acted on his feet and quite honestly didn't think about what he was doing until it was too late. Harry stood on his tiptoes and pull Riddle by his tie into a smearing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sweet chaos begins🥰


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Tom Riddle,_

_First of all, I refuse to call you Voldemort or any other stupid name you decide to give yourself. You think you’re so clever, going by a sobriquet all of a sudden. Just so you know, Voldemort sounds like the name of a homicidal psychopath with no nose._

_Did you know that when you kissed me, I would come to love you? Sometimes I think yes. Definitely yes. You know why? Because you think EVERYONE loves you, Tom. That’s what I hate about you. Because everyone does love you. Including me. I did. Not anymore._

_Here are all your worst qualities:_

_You’re an ass kisser. You just assume everyone else will find it charming. And if they don’t, who cares, right? Wrong! You do care. You care a lot about what people think of you._

_You always play with people’s emotions without considering their feelings. That’s rude. Mean. And manipulative._

_You’re so good at everything. Too good. You could’ve given other guys a chance to be good, but you never did._

_You kissed me for no reason. Even though I knew it was an accident, and you don’t like me like that, and I know you don’t like me like that. But you still did it. I lay in bed at night thinking of you, wondering if you thought about that moment as I do. I really want to know: was it an accident? My first kiss was supposed to be something special. I’ve read about it, what it’s supposed to feel like—fireworks and lightning bolts and the sound of waves crashing in your ears. I didn’t have any of that. Thanks to you it was as unspecial as a kiss could be._

_The worst part of it is, that stupid nothing kiss is what made me start liking you. I never did before. I never thought about you like that. Lavender always said that you are the best-looking boy in our grade, and I agreed, because sure, you are. But I still didn’t see the allure of you. Plenty of people are good-looking. That doesn’t make them interesting or intriguing or cool._

_Maybe that’s why you kissed me. To do mind control on me, to make me see you that way. It worked. Your little trick worked. From then on, I saw you. Up close, your face wasn’t so much handsome as beautiful. How many beautiful boys have you ever seen? For me, it was just one. You. I think it’s a lot to do with your lashes. You have really long lashes. Unfairly long._

_Even though you don’t deserve it, fine, I’ll go into all the things I like(d) about you:_

_One time in potions, nobody wanted to be partners with Neville Longbottom because he has the worst luck, and you volunteered like it was no big deal. Suddenly everybody thought Neville wasn’t so bad._

_I like your witty dry remarks and sarcastic sense of humor. I like when you let your guard, when you smile for real (not those practiced fake smiles you give everyone else.) your dimples show and cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink._

_I like how you look at me, how you make me feel special, even though I’m anything but._

_ You were the last boy to get tall. And now you’re the tallest, but it’s like you earned it. Also, when you were short, no one even cared that you were short. _

__ _ After you kissed me, I liked you for the rest of third year and most of fourth. It hasn’t been easy, watching you grow distant, you’ve changed into someone I don’t recognize. ~~Sometimes I wish we never found who your family was.~~ You turn everyone into fools. Me, Slughorn, and all the other students. Because that’s your talent, right? You’re good at making people feel special. Making people think you care when you really don’t. _

__ _ Do you know what it’s like to like someone so much you can’t stand it and know that they’ll never feel the same way? Probably not. People like you don’t have to suffer through those kinds of things. It got easier after we stopped being friends. At least then I didn’t have to sit there and pretend nothing changed. _

__ _ And now that the year is almost over, I know for sure that I am also over you. I’m immune to you now, Tom. I’m really proud to say that I’m the only homosexual boy in this school who has been immunized to the charms of Tom Riddle. All because I had a really bad dose of you in third year and most of fourth. Now I never ever have to worry about catching you again. What a relief! I bet if I did ever kiss you again, I would definitely catch something, and it wouldn’t be love. _

_ Harry James Potter. _

*

Harry doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe a bit of both.

His first thought is: I have muscle memory of Riddle’s lips.

His second thought is: I hope Ron is watching. He has to be watching or it’s all for nothing.

Harry’s heart is beating so fast, so loud, he can hear it thumping. What the bloody fuck is he doing? Was he even doing this right? He must be, because about three seconds in, Riddle starts kissing him back. Tom Riddle, a boy so handsome it’s like he came straight out of a dream, is open-mouthed, soft-lipped kissing-him-back. Tom moves his hands down Harry’s back and along his spine and pulls him closer. Truthfully, Harry hasn’t kissed that many boys before. Tom Riddle, Zacharias Smith, Cedric Diggory, and now Riddle again. Keep in mind, They were all very brief kisses until now.

Riddle had quite literally pushed Harry against the wall when Ron finally decides to retreat. From the corner of his eye Harry can see Ron slowly backing away, a flabbergasted look so comically engraved on his face, Harry would have laughed if the circumstances were different.

If only.

Once the redhead was out of sight Harry abruptly pulls away. His lips are swollen, cheeks red, and Riddle is looking at him with his head cocked to the side.

For a moment Harry wishes he wasn’t so horrible at memory charms.

“It’s not what you think!” Harry manages to say before deciding to abandon ship altogether and jump out the nearest window. Literally. Thankfully it was a shortfall.

*

If Harry could crawl into a hole and burrow in it comfortably and live out the rest of his days in it, well, then that’s exactly what he would do. Sadly, that option isn’t realistic so instead, Harry spent the rest of the day hiding in Myrtle Warren’s bathroom. Nobody comes here. Not after the Ravenclaw was found dead in one of the many stalls last year.  
  


This is a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. Harry sinks to the floor. He’s had the going-to-school-naked dream before. He’s had the going-to-school-naked-forgot-to-study-for-an-exam-in-a-class-I-never-signed-up-for combo, the naked-exam-somebody-trying-to-kill-me combo. This is all that times infinity.

What if Riddle is just the beginning? What if . . . what if his other letters somehow got sent too? To Cedric Diggory. Earnest Macmillan. Anthony Goldstein.

Ron.

Oh my God, Ron.

Harry leaps up off the floor. He’s got to find that hatbox. He’s got to find those letters. He has to be sure!

*

As soon as the coast was clear Harry made a run for it. Ron should be at quidditch practice, and the Gryffindor tower wasn’t that far from here. He ran like the wind. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever run so hard or so fast in his life, and likely never will again. Harry ran so hard, a couple of times he has to stop because the slighter teen felt like he really was going to throw up. And then he remembers the letters and Ron, and Up close, your face wasn’t so much handsome as beautiful, and he’s off and running again.

As soon as he got into the common room, Harry dashes upstairs and dives into his trunk for Lily’s old hatbox. It’s not hazardously shoved into the bottom of the trunk where it usually sits. It’s not on the floor, or behind his stack of chocolate frogs. It’s not anywhere. Harry gets on his hands and knees and starts rifling through piles of sweaters, shoe boxes, unused school supplies. He looks in places it could not possibly be because it’s a hatbox and it’s big, but He looks anyway. His mother’s hatbox is nowhere.

When things get bad Harry’s first impulse is to tell Hermione. It still is. He considers the option for a moment, He’d leave out the Ron part of it and focus on the Riddle part. She’ll know what to do; she always knows what to do. But the thought of facing her made his insides squeeze. Shame threatening to drown him.

How is he supposed to talk to her? Just thinking about being in the same room as her is making Harry sweat like a hooker in church. No, it’s best to leave her out of this. besides, what would he even say? “I wrote a bunch of love letters and they got sent out, including one I wrote to your boyfriend.”

What type of person writes love letters to their best friend’s boyfriend? What type of person does that make him? Is Harry a homewrecker?


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you avoiding me?"

Harry stiffens, his muscles grow tense, and it takes all his will power not to sprint away. "No, of course not." Translation: Yes.

"Harry. . ." Ron has this shell-shocked, confused expression on his face. "I've been trying to talk to you for the past two days. But you're always gone, and nobody could find you. . . ." He holds out Harry's letter. "I don't understand. What is this?"

"I don't know . . . ," Harry hears himself say. His voice feels far away. It's like he's floating above himself, watching it all unfold.

"I mean, it's from you, right?"

"Oh, wow." He takes a breath and accepts the letter. Harry fought the urge to tear it up. "Where did you even get this?"

"It got sent to me." Ron jams his hands into his pockets. "When did you write this?"

"Like, a long time ago," Harry says. He lets out a fake little laugh. "I don't even remember when. It might have been first year." Good job, Harry Potter. Keep it up.

Slowly Ron says, "Right . . . but you mention going to Bill and Fleur's wedding. That was like two years ago."

Harry bites his bottom lip. "Right. I mean, it was kind of a long time ago. In the grand scheme of things." Harry can feel tears coming on so close that if he breaks concentration even for a second, if he wavers, Harry will cry and that will make everything worse if such a thing is possible. He must be cool and breezy and nonchalant now. Tears would ruin that.

Ron is staring at him so hard Harry has to look away. "So then . . . Do you . . . or did you have feelings for me or . . .??"

"I mean, yes, sure, I did have a crush on you at one point, before you and Hermione ever started dating. A million years ago."

"Why didn't you ever say anything? Because Harry. . . Merlin. I don't know. I feel awful." His eyes are on Harry, and they're confused, but there's something else, too. "This is crazy. I feel kind of blindsided."

The way Ron is looking at him now, Harry is suddenly in a time warp back to a summer day when Harry was fourteen and Ron was fifteen, and they were in a flower field near the borrow with Ginny. Ron was looking at him so intently Harry was sure he was going to try to kiss him. He never did though and he never looked at Harry like that again.

Until this moment.

Don't. Just please, don't.

Whatever Ron is thinking, whatever he wants to say, Harry doesn't want to hear it. He will do anything, literally anything, not to hear it.

Before he can, Harry says, "I'm dating someone."

Ron's jaw goes slack. "What?"

What?

"Yup. I'm dating someone, someone I really really like, so please don't worry about this." Harry waves the letter like it's just paper, trash, like once upon a time He didn't literally pour his heart onto this page. Harry stuff it into his bag. "I was really confused when I wrote this; I don't even know how it got sent out. Honestly, it's not worth talking about. So please, please don't say anything to Hermione about it."

He nods, but that's not good enough. Harry needs a verbal commitment. He needs to hear the words come out of his mouth. So Harry adds, "Do you swear? On your life?" If Hermione was to ever find out . . . Harry would want to die.

"All right, I swear. I mean, we haven't even spoken since we broke up ."

Harry let out a huge breath. "Great. Thanks." He's about to walk away, but then Ron stops him.

"Is it Riddle?"

"What?"

"The guy you're dating." Right, Harry did have a full snogging session with Riddle right in front of Ron. An understandable assumption.

"Yep."

That's when Harry sees him. Tom Riddle, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Tom. He deserves background music, he looks so good. "Tom!" He sails past Ron. "I've gotta go! Let's talk later, Ron!"

"Harry! Wait—"

Harry runs up to Riddle and launches himself into his arms like a shot out of a cannon. Merlin, he must be sending a lot of mixed signals. Harry got his arms around Riddle's neck and his legs hooked around the taller boy's waist. Harry doesn't even know how he managed to do that, he doesn't make it a habit to hang off people like a koala. Tom's usually poised mask slips and his face is registering pure shock and disbelief and maybe a drop of amusement. Raising his eyebrow, and before Riddle could even open his mouth to speak Harry says "Walk me too class?" In the sweetest tone he can.

This is a nightmare.

"I'd love to."

*

It takes all of History Of Magic class and most of Charms for Harry's heart rate to slow down. He kissed Tom Riddle. He swung off the headboy like he was a jungle gym. In the hallway, in front of everybody. In front of Ron.

He didn't think this thing through, obviously. That's what Hermione would say, including and especially the "obviously." If Harry had thought it through, He would have made up a boyfriend and not picked an actual person. More specifically, He would not have picked Riddle. He is literally the worst person Harry could have picked, because everybody knows him. He's Tom Riddle, for Godrick's sake. Headboy, heir of Slytherin. It doesn't matter if that title is mostly kept quiet, all the other Slytherin's know!

Harry spends the rest of the day hiding. He even eats lunch in Myrtle's bathroom.

Harry's last class of the day is transfiguration. With Riddle. Professor McGonagall gives us a reintroduction to the basics, and we have to practice turning birds into cups. Riddle and his friends finish the assignment within thirty minutes, so they separate off from everyone and have hush conversations amongst themselves, and Harry hasn't had a chance to properly talk to him. At one point the headboy catches Harry looking at him and he winks, which makes Harry want to shrivel up and die.

After class is over, Harry waits for Riddle outside the room, planning out what he's going to say, how he's going to explain it. He'll start out with, "So about... everything. . . ," and then he'll give a little laugh, like how hilarious is this!

Riddle and his friends are the last ones to come out. They walk at an elegant leisurely pace, like they own the castle, and have nothing better to do. Riddle was at the center of the group (as always) like he was a high king. They regard him as such, Harry doesn't know why, but their world revolves around Tom Riddle.

"Harry," Riddle says as soon as his eyes found the smaller teen. He stops, along with his clique.

"Can I talk to you," Harry hurriedly says. "In private?"

Riddle nods with one of his artificial— charming smiles, it's a handsome smile, but Harry can tell it's full of bullshit because his dimples aren't showing. He glances at his little friend group. Permitting them to leave without the use of words.

"After you, Harry." Riddle gestures for him to lead the way. They walked in silence for a moment, while Harry worked up the nerve to speak.

"So about this morning . . . And the other day" Harry awkwardly laughs, and Riddle turns just to look at him.

"Oh, are we finally going to address the love letter?"

"No. I mean, yes. Tangentially."

"Harry," he says. "Don't worry about it, I found it enduring," Riddle smirks, amusement laced in his voice. "In a quirky way. It was certainly the most hostile love letter I've ever received. . ."

Harry's mouth drops. "Quirky"? How is he "quirky"? "Enduring in a quirky way" is an insult. Those words don't even make sense together.

He's still talking, his eyes are glittering with this smug-satisfaction "I mean, I'm definitely flattered. That you fancy me after all this time—it's flattering."

That's enough. That's plenty enough. "I don't fancy you," Harry announced, loudly. "So there's no reason you should feel flattered."

Now it's Riddle's turn to look taken aback. He quickly looks around to see if anyone heard. He leans forward and whispers, "Then why did you kiss me?"

"I kissed you because I don't like you," Harry explained like this should be obvious. "See, my letters got sent out by someone. Not me."

Riddle's lips pursed "Letters?" He repeats, his tone was unnaturally even. "How many did you write?"

"Five. Anyway—"

Riddle frowns. "You wrote five love letters."

"Yes," Harry huffs. "Keep up—"

"To who?"

"That's..." Why should he tell him anything? "That's personal."

"I believe I have a right to know since you did pull me into this petty drama," Riddle says with a pointed look. Harry suck in his top lip and shakes his head and then Riddle adds, "That's if you really wrote other letters."

"I did too! I wouldn't have kissed you if Ron didn't receive one."

"Ron? Ron Weasley? Isn't he courting your best friend?"

Harry nods. He's surprised Riddle even knows that. He didn't think Ron and Hermione would be on his radar. "They've broken up now. But I don't want him to think I still have feelings for him . . . for obvious reasons. So . . . I told him you were my boyfriend."

"So you used me to save face?"

"I mean, basically." Basically exactly.

"Charming."

First Harry's enduring in a quirky way; now he's charming (but said in an overly posh accent). He knows what that means. "Anyway, thanks for going along with it, Riddle." Harry flashes him what he hopes is a winning smile and turns on his heel to go. "See ya!"

Riddle reaches out and grabs Harry's elbow. "Wait—so Weasley thinks I'm your boyfriend now, right? So what are you going to tell him?"

Harry tries to shrug him loose, but he won't let go. "I haven't figured that part out yet. But I will." Harry lift his chin. "I'm quirky like that."


	8. Chapter 8

“Is it true?” Ginny asked eagerly.

“Is what true?”

Harry is lying on the couch in the common room, on his stomach. Uncle Moony once told him that if his stomach hurt, he should lie on his stomach and it would warm up and feel better. Harry doesn’t think it’s helping, though. His stomach’s been in knots all day.

“Did you run up to Riddle and kiss him like a maniac?”

Harry closes his eyes and whimper. He wishes he could say no because Harry isn’t that kind of person. But he did do it. (So I guess I am.) But his reasons were really good! Harry wants to tell Ginny the truth, but the whole thing is just so embarrassing. “Yeah. I went up to Tom Riddle and kissed him. Like a maniac.”

Ginny exhales. “Damn!”

“I know.”

“What in the name of Merlin were you thinking?”

“Honestly? I don’t even know. I just . . . did it.”

“Bloody hell. I didn’t know you had it in you. I’m kind of impressed.”

“Thanks.”

“But you know Bellatrix gonna come after you, right? She might be engaged to Lestrange, but she’s obsessed with Riddle.”

Harry’s stomach lurches. He completely forgot about Bellatrix. “Yeah. I know. I’m kinda scared, Ginny.” He’s never met the woman himself, but everyone has heard about Malfoy’s young hot aunt... or more specifically what a mythic bitch she is.

Ginny snorts and coos teasingly “I’ll do my best to protect you from her, but you know how she is. You better watch your back.”

Harry feels even worse than before. If Hermione knew, she’d probably say that writing those letters was pointless in the first place, and she’d get on him about telling such a big lie. Then she’d help him figure out a solution. But Hermione doesn’t know—and even bigger than that, she’s the one person Harry can’t talk to. She can never-never-never know how he felt about Ron.

*

“Harry!” Hermione yells from the other side of the corridor. Harry’s heart squeeze tightly, bile crawls up his throat. He can’t look at her right now. He can’t talk to her. Harry is afraid of what she’ll see, afraid that she’d take one good at him and know what he's done. What he felt.

“Harry, wait up!” She calls again, trying to push her way through the heavy stream of students. He can’t do this right now. He can’t talk to her without guilt threatening to suffocate him, so Harry kept walking. Pretending he never heard her.

*

On Wednesdays, the trio usually has something good for breakfast, like pancakes or frittata with frozen shredded potato and broccoli. Something to help get them throw the rest of the week. But since Harry is avoiding Ron and Hermione like their infected with the bubonic plague, He just ate a fruit cup while hiding in the bathroom. Harry didn’t want to make it obvious that he’s been avoiding his friends, so he makes himself busy. For once Harry is actually ahead of the curriculum, all of his assignments are finished and he rewrote all of his notes in a more aesthetic organization fashion. All the while his mind thought of ways he’s going to get himself out of this Tom Riddle situation with even a sliver of dignity. The wheels in his head turn and turn, but no good solutions come to mind.

That’s how Harry and Luna found themselves walking the edge of the black lake. He doesn’t know if it’s her strange outlook on life or her dreamy personality but there’s something about Luna that clears his head. Giving him a different perspective of any strange situation he finds himself in.

And he gets himself into a lot of strange situations.

They’ve just gone their separate ways when Ron jogs up to him. He looks forcefully casual as he says, “So how are things going with Riddle?”

Funny you should bring that up, Ron. Cause Harry’s got his story locked and loaded. (Thank you, Luna.) Riddle and Harry had a fight while studying together in one of the hidden rooms Riddle found. (In case Ron noticed they haven’t been seen together in public since Monday.) and they broke up, and Harry’s devastated about the whole thing, because He’s been in constant love with Tom Riddle since third year, but c’est la vie.

“ Actually, Tom and I broke up this morning.” Harry bites his lip and tries to look sad. “It’s just, really hard, you know? After I liked him for so long and then finally he likes me back. But it’s just not meant to be. He’s just so ambitious and focused on his goals, there’s no room in his heart for me.”

Ron gives Harry a funny look. “That’s not what he was saying today in the Library.”

Oh god, what in the world was Riddle doing! “What did he say?” Harry tries to sound casual, but his heart is pounding so loudly He’s pretty sure the whole castle can hear it.

Ron didn’t respond. He quietly walks next to the smaller teen, keeping his stare straight ahead.

“What did he say?” Now Harry’s just trying not to sound shrill. “Like, what was said exactly?”

“While we were in line to check out books, I asked him when you guys started going out, and he said recently. He said he really liked you.”

What . . .

Harry must look as shocked as he felt because Ron finally glances at him with a small smile and says, “Yeah, I was kind of surprised too.”

“You were surprised that he would like me?”

“Well, kind of. Riddle just isn’t the kind of guy who would date a people like you... or people in general” When Harry stare back at him, sour and unsmiling, he quickly tries to backtrack. “I mean, because you’re not, you know . . .”

“I’m not what? Attractive? Smart?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m trying to say is, you’re like this sweet, innocent Gryffindor who likes to be at home with his family, and I don’t know, I guess Riddle doesn’t strike me as someone who would be into that or into anyone at all for that matter!”

Before he can say another word, an owl swooped down, dropping a letter in Harry’s hand. It’s from Padfoot. “It’s from Tom, so I guess he does like homely boys.”

“I didn’t say homely! I said you like to be at home!”

“Later, Ron.” He says before speeding away.


	9. Chapter 9

In potions, Riddle sits A row in front of Harry.

Harry wrote him a note. ‘Why would you tell Ron that we’re—‘ he hesitate and then finish with ‘a thing?’

Harry kick the back of his chair, and Riddle turns around and Harry hands him the note. He glances down, reading the note in the most unsuspecting way possible; then Harry watch as he scribbles something. Riddle tips back in his chair and drops the note on Harry’s desk without looking at him.

A thing? There’s no need to play coy Harry.

Harry presses down so hard the tip of his quill chips off. Please answer the question.

We’ll talk later.

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh and Neville, his potions partner, gives him a funny look.

After class Riddle is swept away with all his friends; they leave in a big group. Harry is slowly gathering his belongings when he returns, alone. Riddle leans against the table. “So let’s talk,” he says, super casual. In a tone like silk.

Harry clears his throat and tries to gather his bearings. “Why did you tell Ron we were—” He almost say “a thing” again, but then change it to “together?”

Riddle tilts his head, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset. I did you a favor. I could have easily reveal your little lie.”

Harry pause. He’s right. He could have. “So why didn’t you?”

“You got a peculiar way of saying thank you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Automatically Harry says, “Thank you.” Wait. Why am is he thanking him? “I appreciate you letting me kiss you, but—”

“You’re welcome,” Riddle says again.

Harry felt his smile strain.“That was . . . really generous of you. To let me do that. But I’ve already explained to Ron that it’s not going to work out with us because you're an insufferable workaholic. Besides, Bellatrix already has a claim over you. Best not poke a mentally unstable bear. so it’s all good. You can stop pretending now.”

Riddle raised one of his perfectly sculpted brows. “Bella is engaged.”

“So? Everyone knows she’ll probably murder her husband within a year so she can run off into the sunset with you.”

Riddle stares at Harry in a thoughtful way, and it’s all of a sudden making him nervous.

“What?” Harry asks, trying to refrain from fidgeting awkwardly.

“Let’s just do this for a little while.”

Harry blinks. “Do what?”

“Let’s let people think we’re a couple.”

Wait . . . what?

Harry’s mouth dropped, unsure he heard the taller boy right. “Hello, I just got through explaining to you how Bellatrix will likely kill anyone who’s romantically interested in you!”

Riddle dismisses this. “Bella won’t do anything that would displease me. She’s well aware of the consequences. You just don’t know her as I do.” When Harry didn’t say anything, he takes his silence as encouragement, and Riddle says, “It would help you out, you know. With Weasley. Weren’t you so worried about losing face in front of him and Granger? This could save you from more humiliation. Who would ever believe you like Weasley when you could be with me? Well, pretend to be with me.” Tom’s lips curve into a small-sharp grin “Strictly business, of course. I can’t have you falling in love with me.”

It gives Harry great pleasure to look up into Riddle’s Handsome Boy face and sweetly say, “Tom, I don’t even want to be your pretend boyfriend, much less your real one.”

He blinks. “Why not?”

“You read my letter. You’re not my type. Nobody would ever believe I would like you.”

“It’s up to you.” Then Riddle shrugs and looks over Harry’s shoulder like he’s bored with this conversation. “But Weasley definitely believed it.”

In a flash, without even thinking, Harry says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

*

This is the first time Harry has walked down the school corridor holding hands with a boy. It should feel momentous, special, but it doesn’t because it’s not real. Honestly, it feels like nothing.

Draco Malfoy does a double-take when he sees them. He’s staring so hard, Harry is surprised he doesn’t run down the hall to find his aunt. Riddle keeps stopping to say hi to people, and Harry stands there smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.

At one point He tries to let go of Riddle’s hand because he is starting to feel sweaty, but Riddle tightens his grip. “Your hand is too hot,” Harry hiss.

Through clenched teeth, he says, “No, your hand is.”

Harry wonders if Riddle has ever held hands with Bellatrix. He’s sure her hands are never sweaty. She could probably hold hands for days without getting overheated.

When the pair reaches Harry’s next class, they finally drop hands. He’s about to walk into the room when Riddle leans in and tries to kiss him on the mouth. Harry is so startled he turns his head, and they hit foreheads.

Riddle rubs his forehead and glares at him.

“Well, don’t just sneak up on me like that!” Harry’s forehead hurts too. They really banged them hard, like cymbals. If he looked up right now, Harry would see blue cartoon birdies.

“Lower your voice,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Harry whispers back.

Riddle heaves a big sigh like he’s really annoyed with him. Harry’s about to snap at him that it’s his fault, not mine, when Harry catches a glimpse of Bellatrix’s icon curls gliding down the hallway. “Gotta go,” Harry says in a very un-Gryffindor fashion, and darts off into the classroom.

“Wait!” Riddle calls out.

But Harry keeps walking.

*

Harry is barely paying attention to professor Snape drone on and on about dark creatures, he’s too busy reliving the horrible kiss-that-wasn’t. Harry keeps trying to block it out, but it just keeps coming back.

Harry puts a hand to his forehead. He doesn’t think he can do this. It’s all so . . . (I mean, the kissing, the sweaty hands, everybody looking. It’s too much.)

Harry just going to have to tell him he changed his mind, and he doesn’t want to do this anymore, and that’ll be that. Harry really doesn’t want to face him, but he also doesn’t want to say any of this in a letter, either. So Harry will have to find him before dinner.

*

Harry ambushes Riddle after classes are over for the day, he drags the taller boy into an abandoned classroom. Riddle raises his eyebrows at him. “Is myadoring boyfriend demanding attention already?”

Harry smiles awkwardly at him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Riddle sits down on an empty desk like a prince on his throne, and Harry stands in front of him, books clenched close to his chest “Let me guess.” Riddle drawls. “ You’re here to back out on me, am I right?”

He’s so smug, so sure of himself. Harry doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right.

“I just wanted to go over the game plan with you,” he says, sitting down. “Get our story straight before people start asking questions.”

Riddle raises his eyebrows. “Oh. How Slytherin of you Harry. But there’s no need to worry, I already have a story.”

Harry tightens his grip on the books, trying to fight the urge to smack him over the head.“Great.”

Tom nods. “We ran into each other at the leaky cauldron a week before school started, you happened to be last-minute shopping when you saw me, and you waited for my friends to arrive with me and you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you missed me. You were really nervous the whole time because you’ve secretly liked me since third year. I was your first kiss. So this was your big chance—”

“I’m sorry, what?” he interrupts. “Nobody is going to believe this.”

Riddle ignores him and continues on. “This was your big chance. So you took it. You asked me out that very day and we’ve been spending a lot of time together ever since and now we’re officially courting.”

“I don’t think Ron and Hermione going to buy this,” he says, shaking his head.

“Harry,” Riddle says in the most patient voice he’s ever heard, “the most believable lies are the ones that are at least a little bit true. I did go to the leaky cauldron a week before school started; you did have a crush on me; we did kiss in third year.”

Harry sighs. “Okay. Fine. We’ll go with your story.” he clears his throat. “Since we’re on the topic, I’d also like to set some ground rules.”

“What kind of ground rules?” Riddle asks, leaning back.

Harry presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. “Well . . . I don’t want you trying to kiss me again.”

Riddle looks at Harry blankly. “You kissed me first.”

“So. That was then and this is now.”

appearance wise Riddle looks unbothered, But Harry can tell he’s displeased because Harry knows him better than he’d like to admit.“Alright, I won’t kiss you without your consent. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

“You’re gonna write this down?”

Primly Riddle says, “It’ll help us remember.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry pulls out a notebook from his stack of books and hands it to Riddle. He turns to a clean page and writes at the top, Contract.1\. No kissing.

“Are people really foolish enough to believe we’re together if we never touch each other in public?” Riddle asks skeptically.

“I don’t think relationships are just about physicality. There are ways to show you care about someone, not just using your lips.” Riddle is smiling, like he’s actually smiling at Harry.

“That’s very sweet Harry, but no one will believe we suddenly turned into monks overnight. Not after we passionately kissed in front of the great hall. How about we find other ways to be affectionate without completely cutting out normal romantic gestures. Trust me, it’ll be strictly professional.”

“You said you wouldn’t kiss me. It’s already in the contract.”

“I won’t. Without your consent.”

Harry didn’t say what he’s thinking, which is how he keeps adding consent like Harry will actually want to kiss him one day... Instead, Harry just nods and writes down, 2\. Tom is allowed to hold Harry’s hand and cuddle him in public. “But no more kissing,” He says, keeping his head down so Riddle can’t see him blush.

“You’re the one who started it,” he reminds me. There was a lull in the conversation before Riddle asks. “Why are you so... uncomfortable?”

“I’m not uncomfortably.” Harry looks back up at him. “It’s just. . . I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I’ve never been on a real date before, or held hands walking down the hallway. This is all new for me, so I’m sorry about the forehead thing this morning. I just . . . wish all of these firsts were happening for real and not with you.”

Riddle seems to be thinking this over. He says, “Okay. Let’s save some stuff then.”

“Really?”

“Of course, I’m not a monster Harry. We’ll save some stuff for the real thing, not for show.”

He’s touched. Who knew Riddle could be so thoughtful and generous?

“I won’t buy you gifts.”

Harry’s smile fades. “I wasn’t expecting you to buy me gifts!”

Riddle's lips twitched into a small smirk “And I won’t insist on knowing your whereabouts all the time or pay for you when we go to Hogsmeade.”

“I get the picture.” It seems to Harry like Riddle is less concerned about him and more concerned about his wallet. “We’re going to Hogsmeade together?”

“Yes. We’ll have to go to all the popular date spots, for appearance sake”

Harry’s nose scrunches at the thought of going to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. With Riddle. The horror.

3\. Hogsmeade dates.

A brilliant idea strikes Harry suddenly, and he spoke before really processing his request. “I want to eat my meals with you.”

Riddle blinks. “You want to eat with me? At the Slytherin table? All three meals?”

Harry blushes, his cheeks turning a violent shade of red against his will. “Normally I’d say no. But I’m sick of eating in the girl’s bathroom.” Riddle opens his mouth, his lips forming into a soft ‘o’ before promptly shutting it. Like he wanted to ask but decided not to.

4\. Harry will eat his meals with Tom at the Slytherin table.

“So... Is there anything else?” Harry asks, feeling awfully shy for some reason.

Riddle thought for a moment, his eyes staring off into space. “I’ll write you notes every day.”

“Notes?” Harry asks, bewildered by the sudden offer.

“Pansy is always asking Draco for notes. Not that he ever gives her any, but it’s a _sweet_ gesture.”

This Harry understands perfectly. Pansy didn’t want notes. She wanted letters. Real love letters written in his handwriting on actual paper that she could hold and keep and read whenever the mood struck her. They were proof, solid and tangible, that someone was thinking about her.

Harry has always wanted to receive a love letter.

5\. Tom will write Harry one note every day.

Tom leans in. “I’m going write down that you have attend Slughorn’s parties with me.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. “Yes, because nothing will bring me more joy than spending hours hanging on your arm at Slughorn’s stuffy party.”

Riddle smiles, and ugh, it’s annoying how handsome he is. “Perfect, I’ll make sure to have my arm around you the whole evening.”

“Can you also write down that under no circumstances can either of us tell anyone the truth?” Harry asks him. Ignoring his earlier comment to save his own sanity.

Riddle writes it down, and then Harry sits next to him and takes the quill and underlines “under no circumstances” twice. “What about an end date?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how long are we going to do this for? Like, two weeks? A month?”

Riddle hums. “For as long as we feel likeit.”

“But—don’t you think we should have something set—”

He cuts Harry off. “Relax, Harry. Some things are better left unplanned.”

Harry huffs childishly, “Words of wisdom from the perfect Tom Riddle,” and Riddle chuckles, real amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Just as long as it’s over by Christmas break. My uncles always know when I’m lying.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely be done by then,” he says.

“Good,” Harry says, and then He signs the paper, and so does Riddle, and we have our contract.


End file.
